


Father's Daughter

by resurrectionmercy



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bullying, Family Fluff, Gen, Pre-Canon, Teenage Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 07:43:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16300928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resurrectionmercy/pseuds/resurrectionmercy
Summary: Brigitte's had an awful day at school. Luckily, family's got her back.





	Father's Daughter

* * *

 

Brigitte's just never been _that_ girl. She's always been the one climbing the trees, throwing rocks, fighting with sticks and barely surviving topples down the rocks in the thick forests of her homeland. She didn't grow up pretty, and she didn't grow up quiet; she's quite loud, in fact, and quite bold, and all too rough to be _that_ girl. It's just - now she's 14, and it's all catching up to her. There's rumours at school about her. Some kids called her dirty, and she only heard it from Maja afterwards that they said that because she's got a sleeveless shirt but her arms have hair on them. She doesn't get it, though. She's not trying to be a supermodel or anything. She's kinda thick all over, she likes her food, she likes doing physical work, it's left her with a wider frame than _those_ girls - the pretty ones. The ones that shave their arms and wear scents and have flawless skin. Until today, she didn't even think about it like there was a choice: there were _those_ girls, and then the other girls, and then there was her, just being herself, not really part of any group of girls. Just… just her, as she is, doing what she likes and wearing whatever's comfortable. Never before has it occurred to her that maybe… maybe that's _not_ okay. Maybe she should be trying more to be like the other girls. Maybe there's something wrong with her; maybe she's not growing up fast enough, maybe she's dragging behind, being childish, instead of maturing and moving onto more appropriate interests like women should.

It feels nasty in her stomach. She's felt nasty since lunch - she didn't want to eat anything. It's not like she wasn't hungry, it just… felt wrong, somehow. Like if she wanted to be more like those girls, she should be skipping meals like them, too. Or - or something. She's not really sure what they're doing to be pretty and tall and popular. It's not what she's doing, for sure. So cutting off the meal seemed like a good first step; they're never eating at lunch either. Are they? Do they just go somewhere else?

She doesn't know. It's all too much. She's never paid any attention.

"Well, you look _exceptionally_ moody today, kid," she hears from behind her.

Sighing heavily, Brigitte rolls her eyes back and throws herself into the couch, dragging her knees up to her chest but even then she feels kind of gross; her legs are hairy, too, under the low-cut shorts. She can feel them if she touches them, but she tried shaving them once and it was awful, itchy all over in a week, and she cut herself twice. It took _so_ long, too; there's no point in it. It's not for her. But should she do it anyway? Just to be more like them…

"It's nothing, _Pappa_. Leave me alone."

"She doesn't feel pretty enough," Ingrid helpfully chimes from the kitchen; she's loading the dishes in the washer, and her humming's getting on Brigitte's nerves.   
Now, suddenly, more than ever.

"Mom!" she yelps, twisting around on the couch and dangling over the back, "It's none of his business!"

Torbjörn pulls himself on the thick, cushioned arm rest of the couch, throws his feet on the seat, and looks at her with a squint.   
"What's she on about? You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen," he tells her, and her embarrasment just keeps growing.

She's ready to throw him a reply, something sharp, but Ingrid's faster than her mouth's ever been.

"You can't fix it by telling her she's pretty, love. She has to believe it, and her father telling it to her won't change one damn thing. She needs a boy to say it, or a girl, someone who makes her blush."

She's still filling up the dishwasher. Brigitte doesn't know what to say. She wants to disappear. Just sink into the ground and cease existing. _God_ … She can feel her Dad's gaze on her, still as incredulous as before, and second by second he's just making it worse - until, of course, he pats his large hand on the back of the couch and _hmm_ s at her.

"You know what, your mother's right," Torbjörn says; "I can't fix it if I don't get it, can I. But you know what I can fix, with a little help? The engine of that darn ATV that was brought in yesterday. I know, I know, you don't want to, _Pappa it's boring, Pappa I have THINGS to do_ , waa waa, but I could really use a pair of hands."

Brigitte turns her gaze to him slowly.   
"When have I _ever_ told you I'm too busy to help you with an engine?" she asks him, her voice shaking slightly, "What about the ATV?"

"Well, you see, I was thinking - we're not gonna get much out of it if we sell it on. It's kind of old, kind of - worn and a little dirty, it'll cost more to repair all that cosmetic damage than we can ever get back… So if you're interested, I mean, of course you'd rather have something on two wheels, but this thing can move on whatever kind of land, you could take us to our favourite fishing spot on it if you really wanted to. I was thinking, maybe you'd like to keep it, even though it is pretty ugly."

Her gaze brightens. Her heart races a little. Suddenly, she doesn't even remember her hairy legs. She drops them off the couch and jumps up, a little shaky and a little about to run off and into the workshop on her own, but she roots herself in place and aims a heart-melting puppy look at her father.

"Pappa. We need to fix this ATV."

"Uh-huh, I see, it's suddenly very important to you."

"Yes."

"Well, we'll see what we can do…"

Brigitte notices the glaringly obvious wink her father sends in the direction of her mother, who shakes her head smiling suspiciously in the kitchen.   
  
She doesn't care. She's about to own an ATV.


End file.
